Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe
by Lariends
Summary: Ginny begins her sixth year at Hogwarts with a let down, a stalker, and a long distance game of wit and ingenuity. When Malfoy stumbles into the middle of it, he can't let it go. What will he do when the gauntlet is thrown?
1. Epitaph

Heh...sorry about this.  You see, I *had* the entire first chapter done and ready to post, but..the disk I saved it on broke and...all was lost.  Well, an essay I'd already handed in and the first chapter were lost, so..yea.  Then there's this whole school thing.  I guess people actually expect me to 'go' and 'learn'.  These assumed responsibilities lead to 'doing homework' and 'studying'.  Blegh on them all, I say!  Blegh on them all!  

**Disclaimer:** I own Holden, though I'm not proud of him; Ian, whom I refuse to admit, is based off of some cool guys I know; and the plot.  Rowling owns everything else except Dorothy Parker (and her fabulous work), including me, not that I mind.  Don't sue.

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**Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe**

**Chapter 1**

                The first rays of late August's dawn were streaming through the open windows of the owlery, slowly climbing the wall opposite, settling on the legs and glinting off the talons of the lowest-roosting owls.  They stirred slightly at the new warmth, opening an eye before closing it again, decidedly dozing until anybody needed them.  It wouldn't do to wake up without having anything to deliver or anyone to coax a treat from.  

                A few moments later, the owls had returned to their dreams, their chests rising and falling in a slow, constant rhythm with their relaxed breathing.  Every owl that is, except for one.  His name was Pigwidgeon, and he was the smallest of them all, "the runt of the litter", one might say.  He was a very lively owl, always exerting more excitement and energy over delivering something than, in the opinion of most other owls he encountered, was necessary.  

                It took quite a bit of time for the little brown owl to calm himself down, and even now he was taking sluggish steps from one foot to the other, easing himself into sleep and dreams of being rewarded for the completion of a long, hard journey.  That's all he really wanted, anyway: to be praised by his owner for flying half the world over with a truly important delivery.  Of course, he'd be happy just in the flying part of the whole plan.  He hooted in soft contentment and began to lower the last eyelid that remained open.  

                That's when he saw the door move forward just a little, and a flash of red before a girl slid through the crack and turned around to shut the door.  Pigwidgeon didn't need the sunrise igniting her hair to know who she was.  This girl was Virginia Anne Weasley, and while he didn't usually have any deliveries to make for her, Pigwidgeon knew that her appearance here meant an assignment, and maybe, if he did a good job, a treat.  He swooped down to greet her.

                Ginny managed to push the door back into the frame without making too much noise.  She leaned back against it and sighed quietly, glad that she'd made it all the way to the breezy tower without her housemates or the other prefects knowing it.  She rolled her eyes as she thought about them striding through the halls before breakfast because they "felt like it", or so Hermione had said, when she'd been a prefect the year before.  

                Actually, Ginny had learned the real reason why they were known to wander the castle before breakfast.  Receiving the congratulatory letter and her prefect pin over the summer had sucked her into their world of privilege and...responsibility.  That meant meetings every Thursday...morning meetings, before classes, before breakfast, before anyone should be legally allowed to rise.  

                Ginny had actually skipped this one, for this purpose, to slip up to the owlery, to owl Ian...  She didn't have much more time to ponder it, because out of the corner of her eye she saw what resembled a very small bludger being hurled in her direction.  She shrieked and dropped to the hay-strewn floor, rolling out of the way.  When she came to a stop, she felt something light on her arm, something that was nipping her exposed wrist.  Nipping?  She peeked out from behind her hands at the little owl looking at her proudly.

                "Pig!" Ginny was so surprised that she forgot herself, but remembered when her voice erupted and quashed the silence around her.  She clamped a hand to her mouth before continuing in a strained whisper.  The owl began hooting loudly, in greeting, most likely, but in any case, someone might catch her skipping the meeting!  Or worse!  Owling a boy!  "Pig, shut up!  You'll wake the whole of England!" 

                His hoots came more loud and jovial than before as he took to the air and began flying circles over her head.  Ginny raked her hands through her robe pockets frantically.  Something had to keep him quiet!  Ah ha!  She'd found a treat, at last!  She set it on a windowsill, waiting for him to come down to eat it before petting him.  "Listen, Pig," she explained slowly.  "I can't use you because you're not _my_ owl, and Ron doesn't even know I'm here, so no, I don't have his permission."

                Pig only ate his treat and looked at her curiously.  "Besides," she continued.  "I don't mean to chagrin you, Pig, but I can't use you for this letter.  You see, Ian works with Percy and Dad at the ministry, and I don't want my family to see Ron's owl because...it would rouse suspicion, you know?  Dad would be confused that I'm owling an older boy, and probably act protective over me.  I don't really know, though, because it's never happened before.  He might just let it go.." she trailed off thoughtfully, never noticing that Pig had returned to his place between two older owls, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.  

                Ginny glanced down at the folded parchment in her small pale hands.  She was continuing the Game with Ian.  Inside she had copied, as legibly as she could manage after what had happened the night before, a short poem by a very eccentric American woman named Parker. 

                The redhead unfolded the parchment slowly, taking another moment to glance over it, to draw out everything she could from it, looking for meanings, blatant or hidden, that she may have missed.  Because she knew that Ian would find them all, and she didn't want to be surprised with his reply.  

                _Ian,_

_                                          The first time I died, I walked my ways;_

_                                          I followed the file of limping days._

_                                          I held me tall, with my head flung up,_

_                                          But I dared not look on the new moon's cup._

_                                          I dared not look on the sweet young rain,_

_                                          And between my ribs was a gleaming pain._

_                                                                                --Parker; _Epitaph__

                This one wasn't too hard to figure out, and that was just the type of challenge that he needed right now, with how busy he was at the Ministry or...where ever he was. Ian knew how to play the Game, and he wouldn't disappoint.  _So_, Ginny reasoned with herself, _he won't be surprised to find the second piece of parchment…_  Her hands changed parchment gently, but quickly.  She really wanted to get down to breakfast.

                _Well?  Who else were you expecting?  If you couldn't figure out what he said just from the fact that I sent you Dorothy Parker, well…then you're slipping.  I'm only kidding.  Here's your key.  Judge your deciphering abilities accordingly._

_                Harry is not interested in me as more than a friend.  This was surprising to me, because I thought that if he rejected me it would be because of my sisterly demeanor.  I know, I know, "take more risks, Ginny; you'll never know unless you try…blah blah".  Look, kid, that's all I got from you this summer, and now look at me!  _

_                Which brings me to my next point.  The three stanzas, Ian, summarize my life and emotion harboring up until last night.  In this case, 'dying' can represent my heart breaking, risk taking, or emotion expressing.  These were so difficult that it really did feel like I was dying.  It was something I avoided as much as I could.  I got so used to not trying to be myself that…I almost forgot who I was.  _

_                That's not a good thing for anyone, but especially for me because…my first year at Hogwarts wasn't exactly the Utopian experience.  But you know that already.  Still, I could ignore the risks, (new moon's cup), feeling ashamed at not being as docile as others thought, and the pain that was 'between my ribs'.  At least I could deal with myself, you know, Ian?  I could come to terms and justify why I had kept so much to myself.  _

_                Don't want to worry mum and dad, don't want to upset my brothers, don't want Harry to think I'm strange.  Well, if my first year didn't forever make that a vain effort, I don't know what did.  Oh, not last night.  It was a very civil let down.  I'm his friend, and he doesn't think of me that way; he'd rather save our friendship for what it is than risk losing it with a deeper relationship.  _

_                I smiled and nodded, even managed a polite goodbye, Ian.  Aren't you proud of me?  I'm acting even older than sixteen, I think, because I'm not nearly as upset as I thought I would be, or bitter in the least.  Shouldn't I be throwing a hissy fit or bawling my eyes out?  Shouldn't I be plotting my revenge or something?  _Any_thing?  Well?!_

_                Well...maybe I just thought about it so much that I became apathetic or something.  Maybe I didn't really like him all that much by the time I asked him.  Maybe that's why I could really care less. It doesn't really matter, Ian.  Don't worry about me.  I could use some nice, quiet time to gather myself.  And...I think I'm going to stay away from love for the rest of the year.  It has yet to bless me, so I'm not going to go out of my way looking for it.  _

_                Take care, Ian, and be honest with your score!_

_                                                                Your friend, _

_                                                                Virginia Weasley _

                Yes, she nodded approvingly.  It would do.  She now glanced up at the sleeping owls, lifted her hand, and sighed when her second-hand robe's sleeve fell down to her shoulder, exposing her thin wrist and skinny, lightly freckled arm.  She scowled at the ugly, imposing freckles that dotted it sporadically, but smiled at the big barn owl that was descending to carry her letter away.  

                Ginny tied the letter to its leg and gave it a treat, smoothing her palm over his brown feathers.  "Please take this to Ian Jones, at the Ministry of Magic.  It isn't urgent, so you can take your time if you like."  The owl hooted indignantly, as if to say 'A good owl never takes his time!'  Ginny smiled when he flew out the window and disappeared into the dawn's blinding light.  

                She tugged on a couple of her fiery red curls as she tried to imagine his face when he would receive her letter.  He'd probably push his lengthening black hair out of his soft, gray eyes.  He'd probably sigh and let his brow furrow while he analyzed the poem.  He'd probably smile at the thought of Ginny using her poetry book during a boring class to write the letter, which she hadn't done!  He might know that, she thought, but he would tease her about it anyway.  

                Ginny smiled warmly.  Ian really was a good friend.  He was sweet, kind, creative, and he treated her like an adult.  Although she could hold her own in a discussion about literature, and soundly defeat him in every match of Wizards Chess they played, the Game had been a way for her to earn even more respect from the quiet, virtuous American.  Quiet, handsome, polite, generous, brilliant American...

                The sun was warm on her face and her hair was soaking it up, shining illustriously against the dark stone in the walls around her.  Why was she leaning on the windowsill again?  Wasn't she supposed to be somewhere?  Ginny's stomach growled, reminding her.  Breakfast!  Whirling around, Ginny took only one step before she collided with something hard and...squarish.  She squeaked in surprise and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the fall.

                And a second later, Ginny was certain that the fall would have come if the hard squarish thing hadn't...caught her?  She cautiously opened one eye to see that those were, indeed, arms that had encircled her waist and saved her a bruised bottom.  

                She pushed herself out of them and smoothed her robes.  "Thanks, kid, I was sure I was going to--" she stopped when she looked up, her gaze meeting with gray eyes, like Ian's, but...annoyed.  The boy had short, silvery blonde hair that was falling into those eyes haphazardly.  His mouth was set in a grim expression, a thin line, and those arms had folded themselves over his broad chest, where a Slytherin crest and a Head Boy badge gleamed in the sunrise.  "..fall," she finished slowly.  

                A deep dread was welling up in her stomach, which had forgotten the hunger that it had been grumbling over just a few moments before.  Draco Malfoy had caught her, in more ways than one.  "Oh, you're going to fall, alright, Weasley.  Do you know how many rules you're breaking?  Out of your common room before breakfast, and thus breaking curfew-"

                "I'm a _prefect_, Malfoy," Ginny interrupted and flashed her pin in a feeble defense.  "It's Thursday, I had a meeting-"

                "That you were not in attendance at," Draco spat, slicing her only thread of hope for a plausible excuse. "Don't interrupt me Weasley, it's not polite."  Ginny scoffed.  Who was _Malfoy_ to talk about _manners_?  But he held all the cards now, and she would have to be silent until he laid his whole hand all on the table.  And if it were a good hand, as his pleased sneer suggested, the splaying of the cards would be a long, painful, dreadful process.  Crap.

                She lowered her gaze slowly as he continued.  "Skipping a prefect meeting, unauthorized use of an owl during breech of curfew, and what kills me the most," Draco stopped to smirk at her growing anxiety.  

                Little Ginny Weasley, prefect, ace student, and quiet mouse in one, was visibly shaken.  Even one of the afore mentioned allegations could mean her pin.  Except skipping the meeting.  She only had to lie and say she felt ill, and who would accuse honest, perfect, prefect Ginny of lying?  

                She could probably get away with it now that she looked pale green, like she really was going to be sick any moment, if Draco didn't hurry up and lay down his trump card.

                "owling a man."  Ginny looked confused for a moment, but then her face contorted into an angry sneer.  

                "There's nothing wrong with owling _anybody_, Malfoy.  I can't lose my pin for that!"  Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.  Draco tsked and shook his head in disagreement.

                "Maybe you _won't_ lose your pin, Weasley, maybe you won't.  But," he fixed his eyes on Ginny, which were storming with cunning and something feral, a horrible satisfaction that was making Ginny nervous again.  She gulped.  "What would your parents think?"  

                The trump card.

                A Full House for Malfoy, and Ginny held only a pair of twos.  She could just see the Slytherin reaching his long, lean arm across the table between them to sweep away his winnings: her dignity, her newfound adult like respect, her parents' confidence in her abilities, her prefect pin.  No!  She'd worked too hard for a prat like Malfoy to best her like this!  She wouldn't have it!  She would die first!  She wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing!  

                But she wasn't dealing with a fellow Gryffindor, who could understand, maybe even appreciate why she was being so stubborn and brave with her resolve to fight for everything she'd earned bit by bit.  This was a Slytherin, cunning and ferocious, and not just any Slytherin.  This was a Malfoy, intelligent foresight and smooth dismissal of morale rolled into one, purely bred, an appallingly beautiful and accepted member of society.  

                Malfoy was a product of the same mindset that had used her during her first year.  He was no different from Lucius, from Tom, from any of them.  He could not win now.  He could _not_!

                Thinking with the slow, drawling, analytical way that Ian had instilled in her over the summer, through the Game, she began to form a plan.  This way of thinking had come slowly and awkwardly to Ginny, but it was highly beneficial, allowing her to see a poem from all sides, from every perspective imaginable, for what it was worth.  And if it was that effective on a piece of _writing_, well.  Imagine the perks of using it in a real life situation.  This was how Slytherins thought, Ian had assured her.  They were able to have such keen foresight because they saw everything like this.

                It would be difficult, this plan, but Ginny would have to play her part with all the confidence and impassive flair that she could muster.  And when she thought about it, the performance may be even harder for her to carry out than the plan itself.  She cleared her throat, visibly relaxing and making herself look uninterested.  

                She even managed to run her fingers through her hair slowly, boredly, before laying her nonchalant voice on Malfoy...thickly, with only a hint of askance for a challenge.  Ginny didn't look at him, not even out of the corner of her eye, because she was sure that his gaze would cause her to falter; like a bird looking straight into a snake's eyes, she would be entranced and sway, and all would be lost before it had been salvaged at all!  No, she told herself.  Don't look at him.  Not yet.

                Twirling a curl around her finger, Ginny dragged her response out in a severely bored tone.       "It doesn't matter who you tell, Malfoy," she paused to sneak a glance at his reaction.  He looked a little less menacing, as though he hadn't actually expected her to sound so calm or collected. 

                His cynicism returned.  "So you're certain that your parents won't object to an off campus love affair between a man and their youngest and only daughter?"  He looked so confident in his attempt to trap Ginny, his eyebrows poised suggestively over his laughing eyes.  

                Ginny wanted to hex him, and indeed her fingers were unconsciously gliding into a light grip around the wand in her robe sleeve.  "He isn't a love affair, you moron," she said.  "He's my tutor, got that, kid?" Ginny said 'tutor' slowly, as though she was speaking to a child who didn't quite comprehend the mechanics of something as simply complex as why it's important to not talk to strangers.  

                Draco sighed.  The girl really was making this more difficult than it had to be.  Shouldn't she be bawling by now?  Begging for mercy?  For him to keep her dirty little secret?  Why was she being so stubborn?  Well, wait; she was a Gryffindor, she was a Weasley, more importantly, and if they were infamous for anything besides their ugly orange hair, freckles, and rabbit-like numbers well...it was their poverty.  But they were stubborn nonetheless, and known to be rather idiotic when they were worked up over something.  

                But Ginny wasn't worked up over anything.  She was standing in a proud stance, sure, one hand wrapped around her upper arm as her other hand moved slowly in the sleeve opposite it...probably twirling her wand, he thought.  The Gryffindor was cool, indifferent, and seemingly unafraid.  Seemingly.  Draco knew that she had to be terrified.  It just didn't add up, her sneaking out of a prefect meeting to owl a man at the Ministry of Magic.  A tutor?  Please.  She was lying through her teeth, and calling him a kid!  That would stop, or else.

                "Don't call me kid, Weasley.  It's not polite," Draco didn't miss a beat even though Ginny scoffed again.  "Why would you need to skip a prefect meeting to owl this guy if he's, as you say, legitimately your tutor?  Why couldn't you just owl him later, after classes or something?"  

                Do not falter, do not falter, do not-- "Homework, Malfoy, but you'd know that, since you're Head Boy.  And I tutor some third years in the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I'm pretty busy on Thursdays, Malfoy, and I wanted to get it sent."  She shrugged and made to move past him.  Ginny's hunger had returned once she had begun her climb out of the hole Malfoy had dug for her.  

Draco stepped in front of her, she sighed in annoyance.  

                "Look, kid, I'm really hungry, and breakfast has to have started by now, so let me go down-"

                "Didn't I say to quit calling me kid?  What's this Jones guy your tutor in anyway?  I'd have thought your brother's snogging partner would help you with any homework you had."  

                "Not that it's any of your business-"

                "It is, Weasley, I'm Head Boy and I just asked you a question.  Answer truthfully or losing your pin will be the least of your worries."  

                Was he threatening her?  Was Draco Malfoy threatening Ginny Weasley over a damn letter?  Oh, hell no.  "Listen, kid, you've got no probable cause for barging into my post, whether you're Head Boy or a damn Plebe, got it?!"  Thanks to Ian, Ginny had learned that American muggle police needed to have a good reason for raking through belongings of suspects.  Police were just muggle aurors, after all, and aurors usually had a good reason for doing the same.  

                Malfoy's sneer twitched in restraining his fury.

                Ginny tried once again to move around him, but he just stepped where she stepped, and didn't say anything more.  She sighed.  "Literature," she mumbled.

                "What was that, Weasley?  I didn't _quite_ catch that incoherent mumbling."

                "Literature," she burst.  "He's my tutor in English and American Literature, alright?  Now, if you'll let me--Kid, we went over this, breakfast--"

                "Quit calling me kid, Weasley."

                "I call _everyone_ kid, kid!  It's not like you're being particularly insulted here or anything, you stupid git!  Merlin!  Let me go down to BREAKFAST!  NOW!" Ginny roared at him, her hair standing out and framing her face like a lion's mane.  The light shining in behind it lit it afire and emphasized the Gryffindor crest on her robes.  A fire was burning in her eyes that suggested more than being a famished girl; no, she was more than hungry.  She was ferociously annoyed and fed up with Draco's drilling.  

                He was only stalling for time, she was sure.  The git didn't really care that much about whom she was owling and what she was owling; he just wanted her to starve so she could get the boot back to being a Plebe and the howler from her mum on an empty stomach.  Idiot!  She stormed past him before he could remember why he'd been keeping her there in the first place.  

                Ginny was halfway down the stairs to the great hall when she heard foot steps behind her, but she wouldn't have turned around to save her life.  She was still fuming, and turning around to greet whomever was catching her up meant one of two things: seeing Malfoy and having to listen to him, or taking out her anger on some unsuspecting acquaintance she had.  It all depended on who it was, really...and whether or not she kept walking straight for the food.

                "Good morning, Gin," a cheery voice broke into her thoughts and actually brought her back to where she was, striding toward the great hall with a pace quickened by fury and hunger.  It was Holden Sterns, an American transfer student who'd been sorted into Ravenclaw when he'd arrived with the first years.  He was tall, well built, and surprisingly graceful for a seventh year.  Holden had penetrating blue eyes and sandy colored hair.  His dimples were almost always showing, because Holden was so amiable and easy going.  He could laugh at himself and carry a conversation with anyone.

                Most of the girls at Hogwarts were already comparing his 'beauty', Ginny hadn't really noticed, to that of Draco and Harry, whose handsome features Ginny _had_ noticed...vaguely.  With a 'heart throb' from three of the four houses, the girls were banking on a good chance with at least one of them only a week into the school year.  Well, wasn't that just special.  Ginny wanted to gag, but was afraid of what might come up from her empty stomach.  

                "Good morning, Holden," she said as politely as she could manage.  "How did you sleep?"

                Holden shrugged.  "Well enough, thanks.  You?"  

                Ginny shrugged too.  "Could have been better.  Thank you for asking."  They had reached the hall, and students were already taking their places at their tables to eat.  Eat, Ginny's stomach sang at the thought.  "Well," she began her good bye.  "I'll see you later, then?"  

                "Count on it, Gin," Holden winked at her before striding over to the Ravenclaw table.  Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table beside Ron, across from Harry and Hermione to wolf down her breakfast in silence.  

                Unbeknownst to Ginny, two students had only recently taken the slightest interest in the youngest Weasley, and were regarding her as if for the first time in their lives.  They sat at different tables, slowly picking at their breakfasts and watching her engulf hers.  

                However, one was looking on appreciatively, wondering about her very inner workings, her daily routine, what her favorite book or subject was, who she valued above anyone else in her world.

                The other was staring sullenly at the redheaded Gryffindor.  Oh, he wondered about her inner workings, too, but not in such a nice way.  What had gotten into that girl?  Was it only her hunger that had made her act so oddly that morning?  

                He wouldn't stand to be treated so rudely, so...inconsiderately.  And the girl would learn it too.  If it took the whole year.

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Holy crap that was long.  I really only meant for this to be an introductory chapter, but...I got carried away.  Sorry!  And no, the gauntlet won't be thrown until the next chapter, even though we know that Draco already considers himself challenged by Ginny's outburst alone, I've got the actual battle of perception coming.  Heh heh...  

Thank you all the same for staying with it to the end, although I hope it was amusing in _some_ way.  *wink*  Anyway, if you liked it, and you've got a couple minutes, please review.  I'd like to know what you thought!  Thanks!


	2. Learning Lessons

                So, here's chapter two.  I'm sorry that I failed to explain it in the last chapter, but in my story, a 'plebe', as various characters will call others, is a sixth or seventh year student at Hogwarts who is not a prefect or Head Boy or Girl.  While some students (Ginny, Hermione, etc.) don't think much of it, others (Draco especially) use it as an insult, and consider them to be below them in the hierarchy of students.  

                Anyway, this chapter was long in coming, since I had to take my AP tests (Bio, Spanish, Latin, and Physics...*dies*) and graduate from high school.  Then my computer died, poor guy.  

                It took two weeks (of waiting for replacement parts) and four hours of labor to disassemble and fix him for his resurrection.  Ugh.  At least I had back ups of my stories saved on zip disks.  

                Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!  I did my best to personally thank you all, but since some of you didn't leave your email address, it was difficult.  So, tedel, Howler, seekerpeeker, and Ruby, thank you!  

I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it!  

**Disclaimer:  ** I own Holden, though I'm not proud of him; Ian, whom I refuse to admit, is based off of some cool guys I know; Tad, and the plot. Rowling owns everything else except Dorothy Parker (and her fabulous work), including me, not that I mind. Don't sue.

*****

**Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe**

**Chapter 2**

                It really didn't matter to Draco whom she'd been owling, but knowing something so incredibly unbelievable about the Ginny Weasley could prove to be rather good blackmail.  Not that he needed anything that she had, or _wanted_ it even.  Draco could just make her cower in the hallways from his knowing smirk; he could scare her to death; he could make fun of her as much as he wanted without another outburst like the one she had thrown him that morning.

                She could be a tool to embarrass her brother, Potter, Granger.  If he tried, (he was sure) he could make her a disgrace to all Gryffindors.  Why, Draco had never really considered all the things he could do once he had his thumb over the naïve girl.  In the end, if she didn't want to comply or get with the program, well, he could spill.  Seeing Ginny lose her pin and receive a howler from her easily angered mother would give entertainment an entirely new meaning.  

                It was a win-win situation as far as Draco was concerned.  

                All he had to do was intimidate the truth out of her, and then Draco could have another thing to toy around with.  That evening he set his jaw, squared his shoulders, smoothed his hair back, and pulled on some crisp, unwrinkled robes.  Draco smirked pride fully to himself as he regarded his visage in the mirror of his room.  

                It was ten minutes to dinner; he would only need five.  Ginny Weasley was a pushover.  

                "My, don't we look dapper this evening," Pansy called out to Draco as he passed her in the common room to leave.  She walked alongside him to the exit.  "Ready for a hot night out, are you, Malfoy?" her voice swelled with cynicism, knowing full and well that Draco wore that confident look for two occasions: snogging, or beating some unfortunate creature into the earth.  

                Draco didn't look at the short girl beside him.  Pansy Parkinson was, by all accounts, very insightful, regardless of her obnoxious demeanor.  She was after all, in Slytherin.  Pansy and Draco were as close as they came to being 'friends' with anyone.  I.e., Pansy wasn't ruffled by Draco's curtness and blatantly rude insults, and Draco tolerated Pansy's evident neutrality to him.  

                By the rest of the world's standards, however, the two were nowhere near as close as real friends grew.  There was a genuine dislike behind the subtle insults they threw one another.  

                "Why do you care, Parkinson?  Curious about something you'll never have the pleasure of experiencing?"  Pansy just shrugged and tucked her short black hair behind her ear.  Her eyes remained hooded when he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.  

                In truth, the thought of kissing Malfoy made Pansy shiver in disgust.  True, Malfoy was very attractive with his pale blond hair and lively gray eyes that were always swirling with something, be it anger, arrogance, slyness, or a combination of any of them.  His broad shoulders and confident gait gave him a commanding presence when he stalked through the halls of the castle.  

                So he was attractive.  That was reason enough for younger, shallower girls at Hogwarts to pine for his affections, but Pansy couldn't fathom actually _kissing_ her sparring partner.  That would be too…weird, for lack of a better word.   

                "Not exactly, Malfoy.  I was only going to send an apology owl to your victim.  She's likely to be scarred for life, you know."  Pansy replied in feigned thoughtfulness.  

                "Stuff it, Parkinson," was Draco's terse reply.  

                Pansy smiled to herself as he disappeared into the corridor.  Getting close to Malfoy would complicate things between them, and she thought it wiser to leave the Head Boy to his ways.

*****

                The walk up to the library was spent in solitude and slight boredom, but Draco wasn't about to complain that Crabbe and Goyle's early departure for dinner was making him miserable.  No, it was just as well that he was alone.  The last thing he needed was for them to be breathing down his neck and ruining the countenance he'd use to alarm the little Gryffindor.   

                There weren't many students left in the library when he arrived, and even they were on their way to dinner.  So, where was that girl?  Draco expected to have to look in all the shady areas of the place to find her, but there she was, just off of the main aisle.

                Ginny Weasley was straightening her books up and slipping her notes back into her bag, smiling at the third years surrounding her who were doing the same.  One of them stopped putting his things away and tugged gently on her robe sleeve.  She smiled down at him and listened patiently to whatever it was that he was saying.  Draco was too far away to hear it, but he didn't really mind.  

                It was only a third year, after all.  

                She nodded to the younger student, retrieved her wand from her robe sleeve, set a sugar quill on the table in front of them, and they both sat back down, facing each other at the table as she bid good-bye to the others.  

                So, Draco thought.  Weasley was giving some one-on-one attention to the scrapper?  He rolled his eyes.  This would take longer than he thought.  He moved just a little closer to their table, and saw a nice, narrow space between a bookcase and the wall.  It was well hidden in the shadows, and close enough to improve his chance of hearing them finish their lesson...thing.

                That was enough for Draco.  He crept up to it and eased himself into the space, hiding his hands in his black robes.  He blended in seamlessly, or so he thought, with the library's shadows.  Draco tuned his ears to catch the last part of Ginny's sentence.

                "...add the 'Wasi' suffix to whatever you want to remove, Tad," Ginny explained cheerfully and rummaged in her bag for something.  She looked up when she couldn't find what she'd been looking for, and asked the boy if he had anything in particular that was stuck.  The boy nodded and showed her a folded piece of parchment that had a wad of blue gum stuck to the front.  

                The third year flushed in embarrassment as he admitted, "I was chewing it when I fell asleep in Divination...and Trelawney said I would 'be in a sticky situation for such disrespect of Divination's fine qualities...' or something."  His tutor snorted.

                "Fine qualities indeed," she rolled her eyes.  "Don't worry about Trelawney, Tad.  You're not the first to sleep in her class."  Ginny smiled again and pulled the parchment between them.  "Now, this removal charm is very simple to learn, and very useful.  It's different from the summoning charm that you'll learn next year because it doesn't necessarily bring the item to you, but rather, sends it to a place you specify in thought,"  

                The tutor gauged her pupil's face to see if he understood.  Tad looked eager to learn, but a little confused between the two charms.  It was time for a demonstration.  

                "Okay," Ginny started, and lifted her transfiguration textbook from her bag before setting it on the floor about four feet from her seat.  She moved back, and looked to Tad.  "This is the summoning charm that you'll learn in your fourth year.  Some students have trouble getting it down, so don't be discouraged.  Like everything else that comes with hard work, it just takes practice.  Now, watch closely."  

                Tad stood and walked around the table for a better view of the charm.  He noticed how Ginny's wrist flicked gracefully in a semi-circular motion, and how she spoke clearly and calmly.  

                "Accio book," she said, and immediately the book on the floor flew into her outstretched arm.  She wobbled a little from the impact, and turned to smile at Tad.  "See?"  He nodded thoughtfully.

                "But Ginny, why did only_ that _book come to you?  I mean, we're in a library.  I was afraid all of them would..." Tad trailed off, not sure if his logic made any sense to the elder student.   

                "That's a good question, Tad.  I'm glad you noticed."  The boy beamed at her praise.  "You see, you have to be very specific, either out loud or in your head, about what it is that you are summoning, and concentrate solely on that object or those objects.  While I only spoke the word 'book' with the charm, I only thought about _my_ book."  She broke off to chuckle.  "Or else, as you thought, I would have been pummeled with every book in this whole library!"  

                Draco smirked to himself in his dark space.  It did present a rather amusing image, seeing the Gryffindor buried in a mound of the dusty volumes that would leap off their shelves to her arms.  And the look on her student's face would be _priceless!  _Draco shook his head in disappointment.  Too bad she was seemingly well rounded in her studies, and too clever for such a stupid mistake.  

                But Draco had to pull himself from his thoughts, because they were speaking again, and Ginny was busy shoving the same book down into a crack between their table and the wall.  She straightened up when it was securely wedged and pushed her massive hair out of her freckled face with a sigh.  

                "Now, the removal charm is easier to use, because it doesn't require _so _much concentration or fluid wrist movement."  Ginny cleared her throat and looked back to Tad, who was paying rapt attention to her stance and wrist.  Her voice was curter this time, her wrist flick was sharper, and her eyes settled evenly on the book that was stuck between their table and the wall.  

                "Bookwasi!"

                The book sailed from the crack and dropped to the table top with a soft thud.  Tad's eyes were large and round in amazement.  He couldn't believe how well Ginny had carried that charm out, and he was eager to learn how to perform it himself.  After explaining how the removal charm had sent the book where Ginny had intended it to, they both sat down and focused on the parchment and gum affixed to it.  

                It took ten minutes for Tad to get the removal charm down, since he could get the gum off, but kept sending it to places other than the dust bin that Ginny had pulled closer to them.  Each time he missed, Ginny used a wetting charm to reattach it.  Tad was surprised that she didn't think touching his used gum time after time was repulsive, but she only shrugged when he pointed it out to her.  She explained that she'd handled much worse due to her six older brothers, especially because of Fred and George.

                "When you use the charm, think with the back of your mind.  Think about the destination...  In this case, something along the lines of 'Dust Bin' when you say the charm out loud.  Remember, you can use just your subconscious because this charm doesn't require as much thought as the summoning one, okay?"  Tad nodded and relaxed in his seat.  

                He turned his wrist over as he had seen Ginny handle hers, and tried again, this time thinking about the destination with less strain than before.  "Gumwasi!"  The gum was pulled up, and was headed in the right direction.  However, the gum only landed with a squish on the side of the dustbin, rather than in it.  Tad's newly formed smile quickly diminished.

                "Oh, that was wonderful, Tad!"  Ginny exhorted.  Tad looked at her, and gave a little grin.  

                "You think so?"  His tutor nodded.

                "You've made great progress!  And I think you'll really have it down in the next couple of tries.  Try being just a little more specific.  Think something like 'In the dust bin' this time."  Ginny's encouragement fortified Tad's will to get the charm down.  If Ginny believed in him, he was certain that he could do it!  

                His next attempt made both students happy.  

                "Gumwasi!"  The blue wad peeled itself from the parchment like all the other times, but for once, sailed right into the dustbin.  Tad's face broke into the most proud and satisfied smile Ginny had ever seen on the boy.  "I did it, Ginny!  I did it!"  

                Ginny gushed praises on him.  She pushed the sugar quill, long since forgotten, across the table to him, and ruffled his blonde hair.  Tad stacked his books together while Ginny stood and (to Draco's surprise) turned to face the teenager who'd been watching them for the past fifteen minutes.  

                At first, Draco wasn't sure if she was looking at _him_, because she could have been scowling at a book that was on a high shelf behind him...  He would have held to that assumption if she hadn't fixed a mischievous smile on her face before saying "Tad, I think you should know that the removal charm also works on," she paused, boring her eyes into Draco's shadowy hiding place.  "people."  

                Oh.  No.  Draco did not like this.  He didn't like this at all.  He tried to squeeze back out of the crack, but to his horror, found himself wedged and unable to move.  He was as stuck as that book had been, and now he knew how the book felt, with Ginny twirling her wand amusedly and raising one finely shaped eyebrow.  The look of inevitable victory that was dancing in her dark brown eyes made Draco nervous and furious all at once. 

                He grappled in his robes for his wand, but only had time to wrap his fingers around it when he heard "Malfoywasi!" and felt an immense force pull him forward.

                Draco expected to feel something rope-like twine around him, but rather, it felt as though something was yanking on his entire being, drawing him out of the space and shadows like coming down from jumping into the air.  It was ten times as strong and abrupt as that though, and Draco felt sick in the moment it took the charm to extract and throw him face down on the carpet in front of the tutor and her pupil.  

                There was a resounding SLAP of flesh and bone meeting wood and carpet that caused Tad to wince and Ginny to bring a small hand to her mouth in mock alarm.  She hid a satisfied smile behind her hand while Draco's fingers twitched and felt the floor beneath him.  

                He groaned in pain from his position on the floor, and pushed himself up slowly into a kneeling position before struggling to his feet.  Tad was standing, wide-eyed with his arms wrapped in a death hold around his books.  He looked ready to bolt, as well he should, Draco thought.  Ginny didn't look frightened in the least, and to Draco's surprise and annoyance, she sighed boredly and placed her hand on the small of Tad's back.  The boy looked up at her in uncertainty.  

                Had Ginny Weasley just hurled Draco _Malfoy_ to the library floor?!  Tad knew that Ginny was a smart, brave, and nice Gryffindor, but for her to do such a thing to Malfoy!  He gulped when he saw that she was looking down at him and smiling warmly.  Ginny wasn't afraid of Malfoy, and for Tad to see her reassuring expression meant the world to him.  A new kind of respect for the older student was being kindled in his heart.

                If only he could be as brave as she!  

                "Thank you, Malfoy," Ginny didn't look at Draco as she picked up her textbook and settled her canvas bag over her shoulder as though nothing had happened.  "You were a wonderful example for Tad."  She looked at the third year, who was watching her with...pride?  What did the scrapper have to be proud of?  Draco seethed.  So what if he learned a new charm, and saw her practice on the Head Boy?

                So what if there was a witness present for Ginny Weasley's signing of her own death warrant?

                Draco snarled to himself as he watched her dismiss the student to go to dinner and moved to leave the library too.  He stepped out in front of her and waited to hear the library door shut, signifying Tad's departure, before biting out, "You'll pay for that, Weasley!"  

                Ginny looked up at him, her face as indifferent as she could manage.  "Will I, Malfoy?" His hand moved to shove his Head Boy badge into her face, but Ginny took a step back and continued as though she'd expected it.  Expected it?  Was she assuming that _Draco Malfoy_ was predictable?  

                "Regardless of whether or not you are Hogwarts' Head Boy, and I am a prefect or a plebe, your rank has nothing to do with revoking mine."  

                "Then I assume you've taken necessary precautions to cover your tail for this morning?"  Surely she had already reported to McGonagall about her 'illness', and maybe she'd thrown in a little fib about the owlery in case Draco decided to turn her in.  

                Draco was trying to get himself under control.  If he couldn't calm himself down, he would be too flustered to outwit or take advantage of the blackmail he'd secured on her.  

                Outwit?  Since when had a Weasley been witty in the first place?  Well, witty enough for Draco to worry about losing to anyway.  

                Ginny just stared at him.  "I don't know what 'precautions' you're talking about, Malfoy, since I didn't do anything half as bad as _some_ have," Draco stiffened in anger.  "As far as I'm concerned, your attempt at keeping me from dinner is going to waste," she took a breath.  "Because I don't plan on sneaking down to the kitchens so you can ruin me when Filch just 'happens' to walk down the corridor at the same time."  

                "You think you've got it all figured out, do you, Weasley?"  Draco was slipping back into his usual self.  

                "Yes," she replied evenly.  "Some things are simple enough to see through."  Her tone and glare suggested a double meaning that Draco didn't take kindly to.  Before he could respond, Ginny continued, her tone and glare maintained and directed specifically at the blond Head Boy.  "Some things are shallow, arrogant, and," she paused for effect.  Ginny's eyes held the smirk that she wouldn't allow her face to display.  "a hated burden on society."

                What?  Had the smallest of the small, Ginny Weasley, just called Draco Malfoy a 'burden' to society?  Who in the hell was _she _to talk about being a burden to someone?!  Least of all a Malfoy!  The Malfoy were wealthy, powerful, and well, they were The Malfoy.  As purely bred as wizards and witches came, The Malfoy were respectable in their own right.  

                They could make or break the society that Ginny spoke of; it only required a choice and very little actual effort on their part.  Their reputation and influence would do the rest.  Burden or no, it was Draco's choice to be what he wanted, and nobody, least of all a _Weasley_, was going to choose for him.

                What a presumptuous little snot!  Making decisions for him when she didn't know anything about him.  Draco ignored the commanding little voice that reminded him that he didn't allow anyone to know about his inner workings, and continued to glare at the redhead.  Her hair was mussed, her stance was rigid, and her eyes were positively glowing with pride at something.  

                Maybe she'd thought that she'd outsmarted him, Draco considered as he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides.  She was actually waiting for him to respond, and Draco couldn't organize all the insults clouding his thoughts.  He was really beginning to hate the girl....

                Girl.  Ginny Weasley was a sixth year girl, sixteen years old, surely.  Draco hooded his eyes as he swept his gaze over her form, and considered how much of a girl Ginny Weasley really was.  

                She wasn't tall against Draco, probably only 5'5"; but then, not many girls could compare to his 6'1" height.  She had the flaming red hair, sporadic freckles, and stubborn chin that were characteristic to all Weasleys; and large brown eyes that drew an attention unto themselves (Draco had noticed how malevolent they became when she spoke with him) and added emphasis to whatever she was saying or doing.  

                Ginny had a petite body type, and she carried herself with a grace that betrayed her gangly limbs.  Fair skin made her freckles stand out more, but they weren't blotchy or unbecoming on her.  She only had a real smear of them across her small nose and cheekbones, and near her hairline.  

                Speaking of which…  Draco's eyes moved higher to take in her mane.  It spilled down her back in big, bountiful curls.  Ginny's hair wasn't _massive_, per se.  It was just long, thick, and made up of all those curls lying on top of each other.  

He regarded her frumpy robes and frowned inwardly.  How was he supposed to tell if she looked any more feminine in her torso if she insisted on wearing her uniform all the time?  Well, he _had_ held her in his arms that morning.  But he'd been too angry and sinisterly pleased at catching her in trouble to notice that she had a slim waist and felt light in his hold.   

In any case, his silent appraisal had just earned Ginny a stamp as a bona fide, tried and true, one hundred percent: Female Member of Society.

                What had kept him from realizing it before?  Her nasty attitude, probably.  Draco shook his head.  It didn't matter, now that he knew what to do.  If he couldn't scare Ginny, he could seduce her.  

                Half the Hogwarts girls already wanted his attention, so why wouldn't Ginny?  Draco knew he was sexy, and while he rarely played on it to his advantage, this was a golden opportunity.  All he had to do was get her flustered, and she would succumb.  Ginny Weasley would be like putty in his hands.  

                He allowed this idea to float through his mind a second more before fixing a smirk across his features and moving in for the kill.

                *****

                Ginny had seen him react to her insult.  Apparently she was succeeding _too_ well at being blasé and witty at the same time.  It was fun though, to watch Draco squirm in fury and confusion at her behavior.  She was sure that he couldn't understand where she got off talking to him like that, but that only added to her amusement.  

                She would have to remember to thank Ian for teaching her to be subtle with her thinking and insults.  The Game was paying off quite well.  For an instant, Ginny didn't really care that she was missing dinner.  Annoying Draco the way she was proved more satisfying.  

                Despite how reclusive and quiet Ginny Weasley was at school, she was _not_ a weakling, and her older brother, Ronald, could vouch for it.  Along with a scornful tongue, Virginia had many brother-instructed abilities to her credit, and she didn't hesitate to use them ("…especially when she's mad," Ron had been known to say…).  Draco had made a big mistake in assuming he could manipulate her.  But she'd decided to let him off easily, if he backed down.  She rolled her eyes; maybe when Nifflers dig up garbage.

                She had really only planned on hurting his pride, setting him in his place.  Just let him know whom he's dealing with, she had told herself.  Get him angry, and then give him a moment to respond.  If he doesn't, well.  Leave.  

                She stood facing him and watched in hidden merriment as Draco seethed with barely controlled anger.  Kid didn't expect little Ginny to have such a sharp tongue, did he?  She smirked inwardly.  

                Ginny was about to spin on her heel and make her way to Gryffindor tower when Draco pulled himself together.  He relaxed considerably, and tucked his unclenched hands into his robes pockets.  Ginny didn't like the ardent look in his eyes, but she held her ground and didn't look away as he took two silent, graceful steps toward her.  

                Draco closed the distance between them and only had to lean down a little in order to place his mouth beside her ear.  "And some things are much more complex than they seem," Draco whispered gently.  His breath slid over her neck as he carefully brought a hand up to caress her gleaming hair.

                At first Ginny bristled at his proximity, but then she regained her composure and remembered whom she was dealing with.  Of course, Ginny thought.  He wants to ruffle me up by playing a little game of seduction.  Either he's so arrogant that he thinks I'll fall for it, she reasoned, or he's really desperate to come out the winner.  Hmph.  

                "Remove yourself, Malfoy." 

                "Hm?" Draco was busy running his fingertips up the length of her silky neck.  He only made it to the base, though, because that was where her shirt collar began.  The girl kept herself covered like a good little virgin, he sneered to himself.  

                "You _will _remove yourself, Malfoy," she said sternly.  Draco noticed how she tensed beneath his touch.  "Or _I_ will remove you."  Draco jerked his hand away as though he'd been burned.  He wouldn't easily forget the charm lesson that he'd been part of earlier.  And yet, a part of him said slyly, he just had.  

                The Slytherin glared at the prefect as she turned to leave.  Was she walking away from him?  Unscathed?  Uncharmed?  Merlin, she was frustrating.  He couldn't insult her, he couldn't seduce her, and he couldn't _kill_ her (as much as he wanted to).  

                "Watch it, Weasley," he called after her.  "Or someone will find out where you really were this morning!"  

                "Someone already does, Malfoy.  But I guess you don't count, since you just admitted that you consider yourself a nobody." Ginny said silkily.   

                Caught off guard, Draco had to think for a moment about what she meant. The door groaned as it fell back into place, shutting him into the deserted library, with only his thoughts and empty stomach to keep him company.

*****

                I decided to split this chapter into two parts, because it was absolutely enormous, and I just thought that this was a good stopping place.  So.... the next chapter will hopefully be up within the week.  It's already halfway done, and promises more Holden development, some Ginny apprehension, and an actual issuing of the challenge.  

                The 'wasi' suffix is from _The Prisoner of Azkaban_, when Remus uses it to send a wad of gum ("Waddiwasi!") shooting from the keyhole (that Peeves had stuffed it in) to Peeves' nose.  Heh heh...  Isn't Remus great?  

                Thank you all for reading!  If you have time for a review, I'd love to hear what you thought.  


	3. Where Were You?

Well, I've read the fifth book, and I've decided not to change my characterization of Ginny. She'll remain as I've made her so far, since I began this fic before OotP's publication. A silly mistake on my part, I agree, not waiting until after I'd had more insight on what J.K. would do with Ginny, but it was fun nonetheless. I hope you will keep in mind as you read this that my Ginny is completely different from J.K.'s newest, more developed one. 

And, for those who haven't read the fifth book yet (no rush, guys! Prolong the agony! I don't blame you... some of us mourned for days...) I'll try my hardest to carry out the rest of this fic without giving away any spoilers, but... no guarantees, okay? If it's absolutely important to the plot, I may have to include something from OotP... but I'll try to avoid it when I can. And who knows? Maybe if I _do_ add a spoiler, I'll be so subtle about it that only people who've read the book will know. So... _En garde_!

Also, this is more of a filler than a real chapter. I was getting impatient about how long it was taking me, so I decided to put _something_ up. It's relevant, but not as long. Short and sweet. Fun.

Thank you all for your patience. I hope you like this chapter as much as I did writing it.

**Disclaimer: ** I own Holden, Ian, Tad, and the plot. Rowling owns everything else (except Dorothy Parker and her fabulous work), including me, not that I mind. Don't sue.

*****

**Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe**

**Chapter 3**

It only took twenty more minutes of hunger to dissolve Ginny's resolve to stay in the Gryffindor common room and finish her charms essay without dinner. She pushed her chair out from the table she was sharing with two first years and slipped her shoes back on. 

Hermione and Ron were sitting at the table nearest the portrait hole, their books, parchment, and quills spread over the dark wood's shining surface. Harry's things were also in disarray around his seat, but it was empty. Probably went to fetch something, Ginny thought with an inward shrug. Ron gave her an inquisitive glance as she walked past, and she stopped to assure him she was just going to the kitchens. 

"Alright, Gin. Why didn't you come to dinner?" Hermione's quill stopped its hurried scratching and she looked up. 

Ginny pulled on one of her curls thoughtfully. "I got held up, that's all. When I got out of the library I came straight here so I could get the table farthest from the fire place." 

Ron nodded, wishing they'd gotten back earlier, especially since Malfoy hadn't been at dinner, and wouldn't have been able to annoy them on the way out. But Harry'd been a slow eater that night for some reason. Because of Harry's lingering, they were stuck at a table very near the flaming wood, and Ron had already discarded his robes and rolled his sleeves up to stay a little cooler. 

He bid good-bye to Ginny, and after the portrait swung back into place, Hermione placed an urgent hand on his arm. 

"What is it?" Ron asked, startled. 

"Malfoy." Ron's face drew a blank. Hermione sighed, but her uneasy eyes never shifted or lost their intensity. "Malfoy wasn't at dinner, was he, Ron?"

"Well, no... I was just thinking about that too." Hermione looked a little relieved, but her expression changed in the blink of an eye as soon as Ron continued. "If Harry hadn't been so bloody slow--"

"_What_ are you talking about? Wait. Never mind, that's not the point. The point is that both Ginny _and_ Malfoy were missing from dinner tonight. And Ginny was in the library, so anyone could have gone there... Though I doubt more than two people would go to _the library _during dinner..."

"Including yourself?"

"What?"

"Hermione," Ron's voice became level, the way a good friend delivers very bad news to another good friend in the least offensive way possible. From one friend to another. "If something made you absolutely _sure_ that you had to be there, you'd miss _anything_ to visit the library. You should know this by now. The whole school does."

Hermione scowled, "Fine, excluding myself, only two people would want to visit the library when nobody else is around."

"Anyway... Gin and Malfoy in the library alone? Yea, right. She'd have cleared out as soon as she spotted him. She's not stupid, Hermione." Ron's voice lacked the strength of faith he was trying to establish.

"But she doesn't know everything _we_ do, Ron. Nobody's told her about--" She stopped when Harry slumped back into his seat and leaned forward to massage his temple. They were silent a moment, watching him slowly rouse himself to their situation, his tired eyes shifting from the open potions text in front of him to their worried faces. 

"What is it now?" he half groaned. 

The three kept their heads bent close together until well after Ginny returned.

*****

Ginny took her time going down to the kitchens. It was unintentional; she was just thinking about a Longfellow poem she'd read that morning during breakfast. When she finally _did_ round the corner to the kitchens' entrance, she was surprised to see someone already standing there. Well, leaning there, as it was. 

She could tell it was a guy from his height and stance, from the way the person was slouched along the wall with his arms folded across his mid-section, from the way he had crossed his left ankle over his right. Wary that it could be _him_, she quickly threw herself back and close to the wall, peering around to get a better look at whoever it was. 

Sandy blond hair, hooded eyes, no school robes, just his slacks and shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his tie loosened. Tie. Blue and Bronze; Ravenclaw. Not Slytherin; not Malfoy. 

She stepped into view of the person, and smiled a little as he turned to face her. 

Holden Sterns pushed himself away from the wall he'd been lounging against and smiled broadly at Ginny as she approached him. "Hi, Ginny." 

"Hello, Holden." Ginny looked up at him, at those friendly dimples, at his eyes...his startlingly blue eyes. She'd never seen eyes that fathomless before, but they were shining at her, as if they held the happiest of secrets and stories to tell...if only she were to ask... She was staring, and she cleared her throat, blushing a little. "What, um. What are you doing here?" 

The Ravenclaw shrugged. "Waiting for you," he leaned toward her as though he were about to bow, and stopped when his eyes were level with hers. Those eyes! "if that's all right?"

"What? Oh, yes. It's fine." Ginny took a step back before she would accidentally allow herself to start staring again. She tugged on one of her curls and fixed her eyes on his shoes. His ankles were still crossed. Hadn't Ian mentioned something about that stance before? "Was there something you wanted?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact," he replied, straightening up and turning around to pick up his bag... Ginny hadn't even noticed it was there. "You can do me a favor in telling me where you were during dinner, _and_," he rummaged around a bit before pulling out a paper bag with Ginny's name on it in big red letters. "eating this." 

He handed the bag over to the prefect, and she opened it slowly, hoping it wasn't something as awful as pale yellow Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. What she found was a sandwich, a banana, and some pretzels. 

"Wow," she breathed. "Thanks, Holden. I'm starving. Um, do you think I could have a--" she cut herself off when she noticed that he was holding a glass of milk. He hadn't had that when she'd looked down into the bag. "How did you--"

"Keep it cold? Cooling charm. I'm really good with charms."

"Oh," she said as she took it. She'd been about to ask how he got it so quickly or how he'd hid it from view, but she let it drop. Some magic tricks were better left unexplained. "thanks."

"Now," he shouldered his bag and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I'll walk you back to the stairs, and you can tell me where you were. Tad said something about Malfoy and the library. What happened?"

Ginny fell into step beside him. "Oh," she sighed. "nothing of importance. He was watching us, Tad and me, while I showed him how to get stuck things...unstuck."

Holden nodded thoughtfully. "The Wasi suffix. Very useful. But go on; how long had Malfoy been there? Watching you I mean." 

"I don't know. I didn't notice him before Sarah and Valerie left. I only saw him because he moved his hand. He was pretty well hidden, otherwise. But I saw him, and he knew that I saw him, because he reached for his wand--"

"And then?" Holden interjected. "Did he hurt you? Stun you? Insult you?" His tone had changed from humored to worried, and Ginny didn't like it. It made her uneasy.

"No... I threw him onto the ground." Holden stopped and turned to face her.

"...threw him..."

"Onto the ground."

"With... what?"

"The Wasi suffix." Ginny smiled. "He was wedged between the book shelf and the wall."

"So you threw him onto the ground?"

"Face first"

Holden smiled down at her. "Good. And Tadfield was there. His story's true." Ginny nodded. "So, what about afterwards? Malfoy doesn't seem the type to forgive and forget." 

"No," she sighed, beginning to walk again. He fell into step with her. "he threatened me, but he's done it before, so I don't think he'll really _do_ anything."

"Don't underestimate the enemy, Ginny. It's not wise to turn your back on a coiled snake. Or a tiger, for that matter. People in India wear masks on the backs of their heads when they hunt tigers, because tigers won't attack you from the front if they can avoid it..." He shrugged, coming back. "Anyway. Let me know if he's bothering you, because it's just not right, you know? You're too sweet for someone like _Malfoy_ to be tailing you."

Too sweet? What on earth? He barely knew her; how could he say _anything _about her disposition? And Ron would disagree. Fred and George too, she thought. 

They'd reached the staircase Ginny needed. They stopped, and Ginny studied her shoes. 

"Um, thanks again for dinner, I'll be sure to eat it all. And thanks for worrying about me." She looked up at him. "It's funny, Malfoy has kept me from getting to two meals on time in the same day. You'd think he was trying to starve me to death or something." 

His dimples flared into view again. "No problem, Ginny." He paused, then added "We can't have you getting any skinnier than you already are, right?" 

She noticed his teasing tone and answered just as lightly. "No, not with Ron calling me 'Beanstalk' after my growth spurt this summer. I could probably stand to gain a few pounds with how withered I must look." 

"Not withered," he replied thoughtfully. "No, not a dried up beanstalk, but a flower. You're just slender like a flower's stem. That's all." 

Ginny flushed a little at his compliment... At least, she _thought_ it was supposed to be a compliment. "I've never seen a flower with bushy red hair and freckles," the laugh that she forced sounded nervous. Holden laughed genuinely.

"No, I don't suppose many have. But you need to go to your common room, at least, before Filch starts making his rounds. I swear he starts ten minutes before curfew, just to catch the stragglers." He was whispering, as though it was a secret. But not one that his eyes boasted of holding, Ginny decided. 

She smiled and whispered back, "Actually, he starts twenty minutes early, and I'm sure you have homework to finish anyway, if you've been waiting for me since dinner ended." 

"That I do," he laughed, moving away. "Good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Holden." 

Ginny was halfway up the stairs when she heard him call her name one last time. She turned around. 

"We'll have to see about that flower, won't we?" he called from the bottom. 

"Yes," she said, unsure of his meaning. "We will." 

*****

So…yes. Something more about Holden and some underlying plot as well. 

If you've got time, please review; you know we authors can only get better when someone shows us where we've messed up. And we try to fix it. Or improve upon it… you know what I mean. Thanks again, guys!


	4. Sanctuary

                I've started college, and I want to die.  If you were taking twenty-three credit hours this quarter, I'm sure you would too.  So, again, I'm sorry that this is long...in coming.  It's also sort of lengthy, but...what can you do?  I'm so glad that you guys are curious about Holden.  He's odd, isn't he?  Well, we'll all just have to wait and see if he has a part to play.  *smirk*  La la...

                Thanks again to everyone who reviewed!  My heart flutters every time I read one.  I don't mind emailing people when I update, so just mention it in your review if you would like me to.  Well, enough of me!  Enjoy!

*****

**Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe**

**Chapter 4**

                Three days later, Ginny received a written response from Ian Jones, along with a very badly wrapped parcel.  

                It was a lovely Sunday afternoon, and Ginny was stretched out on her stomach across a blanket beneath a tree near the lake.  She was reading a copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_... for the third time.  Her paperback was already showing signs of loving wear on the corners, and the spine was bent (unintentionally), to mark her favorite parts.  

                 She was just about to turn the page and come upon her second spine crease when a soft thud and hoot startled her out of the book.  She craned her neck to see behind her, and quickly sat up, turning around to accept the letter from the owl's outstretched leg.  Ian's owl, she noted with glee.  

                She stroked the bird's feathers gently, awed at how they shifted from their ebony color to a midnight blue that only stood out in sunlight, and seemed unnatural for the imposing owl.  Ginny smiled at him, apologized for not having a treat on her, and watched it fly away.  It wasn't until he took flight that she saw the parcel, smoothly wrapped across the top, but bulging awkwardly underneath, where a triple knot was struggling to constrain the brown paper.  She smiled at it, imagining Ian's face while he'd hurriedly wrapped it.

                Her hands were itching to wrench the envelope and parcel open-- and a week ago, it would not have been dangerous to do so in front of the other Hogwarts students.  However, (no thanks to a certain Slytherin, she grumbled inwardly) Ginny would have to be more careful about her post.  So she rolled her eyes and slowly looked around her, peering for anything suspicious...particularly any silvery blonde hair or Head Boy pins gleaming in the sunlight.  

                Over the weekend Ginny had been on the receiving end of many glares from Draco, but he'd kept his distance, which made her both relieved and anxious.  While he didn't come to her, she didn't have to worry about how to get him to bugger off, but at the same time, that Slytherin could just be biding his time and scheming against her.  

                She wondered if he were really planning something hideous for her, and she was sure that it would be far more overdone than just placing someone face first on the floor.  Honestly, it wasn't _that _horrible a punishment for eavesdropping; Merlin knew she'd done worse to Ron.  Besides, he'd gotten back up, hadn't he?  He'd been well enough to threaten her some more, and for Malfoy that meant being a picture of health.  

                The sound of that SLAP suddenly jumped into her mind, and she couldn't help but smile, just a little, at the whole situation.  How often did one have a Malfoy kissing the ground they walked on?  

                Exactly.

                And for all of Malfoy's obstacles (namely the prat standing in her way), Ginny had been able to eat sufficiently both times that day.  Thanks to her barreling abilities and Holden, she thought.  Holden...now there was a nice kid.  Well, he seemed nice.  It was considerate of him to wait for her with a dinner, right?  

                But then, she didn't feel quite right about him.  It was more than his yank accent, and more than his casual friendliness with everything short of a Slytherin.  It was...  It was...  Ginny sighed.  She couldn't put her finger on it.  There was just something peculiar about him, and about the way he made it a point to wave at her every time she passed (or even _glanced_ at) him in the halls and at meals.  

                He was always the picture of happiness, she thought.  Odd...that was something more characteristic of a Hufflepuff.  

                His eyes, too, she thought.  They were pretty, sure, but there was something so much more vibrant and mocking in them.  The cerulean eyes seemed to beat with a pulse and a life all their own, seperate from thought and body.  Beauty wasn't what drew you in, but curiosity at what he was thinking.  It was like he knew something incredibly scandalous about you, like he could read your thoughts just by _looking_ at you.  It was horrifying.  

                Ginny shivered and shook herself from her thoughts.  She looked around.

                There weren't many students out on the grounds that Sunday.  Ginny attributed it to homework procrastination.  Not that she blamed them; she had only finished her load on Friday night because she couldn't sleep, and she had misplaced her book.

                She snorted.  That's right.  Leave it to Ginny to do _all_ of her homework in one sitting because she's _bored._  What a lame excuse.  

                Nobody was paying any attention to her, or the crisp envelope lying on her lap.  Might as well open--            

                Wait a second.  

                A mass of green was coming closer from the direction of the Quidditch pitch.  

                The Slytherin team had finished practice.  The prefect groaned.

                She could see their Seeker, recently made team captain (though Ginny suspected that his appointment had to do with something _other _than skill) striding ahead of them, his mouth twisted into a frown and his eyes alive with irritation.  As he emerged from the shadow of a tree the sun struck his hair and made him so radiant that Ginny had to squint just to follow his frustrated tromp.  

                His team looked worn and weary.  Their eyes were downcast, and their sneers diminished by what Ginny assumed must have been a sound verbal lashing and strenuous training.  Some of them were dragging their brooms halfheartedly behind them.  Dirt covered them from head to foot, and Ginny could see sweat stains around the collars of their robes.  

                It made her glad that she only played Quidditch at home, where she could at least have an opportunity to pretend that hitting Fred or George was an accident.  (She ignored that they did likewise with her.)  If she tried fooling around like that on _any_ of the Hogwarts teams (much less Malfoy's) she would be reprimanded and looked down upon by her whole house for not being serious enough.  

                Well, it wasn't her fault that they couldn't have any fun.

                In any case, the person she least wanted to see was in her sights, and her common sense told her that if he swivelled his reflective head in her direction, he would also be able to see her.  Sitting there.  Alone.  With new post and a badly wrapped parcel laying in her lap.  She stuffed the parcel and letter into her bag in a flurry of red hair, black fabric, and pale arms.  

                Well, this was it.  She'd been expecting him to come find her a lot sooner than Sunday afternoon, and here it was.  Not that she'd been waiting for it or anything.  Especially not looking forward to it.  That was preposterous.  However, she _had_ told herself what to do when it happened, and it involved acting bored and indifferent, again.  Just because it seemed to bother him better than anything else she'd thought of.  

                She guessed Malfoy wasn't used to not getting 'enough respect' and attention from whomever he was annoying.  Ginny shrugged inwardly.  Oh well, he shouldn't have threatened Virginia Weasley.  Period.  

                The key to really unnerving him was looking uninterested, and that meant acting as though he didn't bother her in the least.  That involved not running away.  So she had to stay there, on her blanket, out in the open, where he had plenty of room to hex her into oblivion.  They'd have to dredge pieces of her from the bottom of the lake, and the Merpeople would most likely surface to shriek their protests at having witch bits raining down on them from above.                  

                Ginny gulped.  No, she told herself.  She couldn't afford to get panicky right before Malfoy reached her.  Speaking of which, she squinted in his direction.  The kid was still standing with his team.  What could he possibly be doing with them to take this long?  She snorted.  They probably hadn't been 'Slytherin enough' on the field or something stupid like that.  

                Well, all the other houses thought Slytherin did a fine job of earning the most fouls.  Go ahead, Malfoy, encourage them to hand more easy shots to their opponents.  Just make it easier for your team to lose the cup after all.  

                It didn't look like he'd seen her...yet.  He was still chewing his team out, and for some reason, they all seemed infintely smaller in stature to Malfoy.  It looked like he was towering over even Crabbe and Goyle with his rage.  Even Zabini,--well, no.  He was just haunched over.  Anyway, if Malfoy was going to yell at someone, best if it wasn't her.  

                She stopped.  If Malfoy was going to yell...  Ginny remembered the times he'd raised his voice with her.  He'd been mean and direct of course, but he'd also been flustered and it had seemed as though he couldn't really rally his thoughts long enough to _do _anything to her.  In the owlery he'd been composed...until she'd exploded at him and pushed past him to leave.  In the library he'd just _stood_ there and watched her walk away.  

                The moral of the story?  Get the prat angry, and he wouldn't do anything to her.  Not at that exact moment, at least.  Ah, she smiled.  She could stall his wrath, and however unspoken it may be, both she and the Head Boy would know she'd added another victory to her tally.  So why on earth was she sitting there quietly?  Why was she waiting for _him_ to act?  Just because the ball was in his court didn't mean she had to sit still and patiently wait for _him_ to hit it back.  

                No.  She had to show him that Gryffindors could bend the rules of battle as much as Slytherins; or at least, that _this_ Gryffindor could.  She needed to act.  But how?  Much as she wanted to hex him into oblivion, Ginny thought that Draco would rather turn it around to get her in trouble for arranging it.  She certainly couldn't instigate a fist fight with the kid.  He was at least a handspan taller than she, and probably had better reflexes from being a seeker...no matter how badly he played on the pitch.  

                Ginny sighed.  What to do?  Then it hit her.  Her eyes widened in surprise.  It was so perfect!  Of course she hadn't thought of it earlier, she reasoned.  She'd been too worried about the blatant way to quell him.  She needed to be subtle...like Ian had tried to tell her.  Well, she thought, before long the team will slump into the castle, and she still had to look up everything to make sure it was right.  

                The prefect rolled up her blanket, tucked it under her arm, and shouldered her bag, striding confidently toward the castle with a satisfied smirk on her face.

*****

                Quidditch practice could have been.... better.  Draco turned to scowl at the disgraceful bunch of Slytherins trailing in his wake.  Absolutely filthy, the way they'd played 'fair' with each other that day.  There'd been no mishandling, no premeditated distractions, no hitting, no kicking, no... strategy.  The other houses, (especially those foresight-lacking Gryffindors, Draco thought) only thought the fouls that Slytherin caused were to be "mean".  

                Well, there was that.  But mostly they were to slow the other team down.  Delay, stall, upset _their _strategy, while guarding our hoops especially well.  The best defense is a good offense, he told himself.  There _was_ a method to their madness.  He paused to sneer.  At least, when there was madness, there was a method.  

                This practice had lacked both.  Everything had been willy-nilly, and Draco hadn't appreciated it at all.  

                They'd played like a bunch of stinking Hufflepuffs.  And he planned to let them know about it too.

                "Hey, badgers!" he called to them as they caught him up.  The team was stopping around him, forming a crescent of heavy green robes and equally laden expressions.  "Do you want to tell me what you saw up there?  What'd you see when you were gliding" --They'd been bloody _gliding_!-- "around your team?  Green robes?  Silver Slytherin crests?"  The team stood still, wondering where their captain was going with this.  

                Draco continued.  "Well.  Let me tell you what _I_ saw.  From my vantage point, Crabbe," Draco stepped right into the ogre-like boy's face.  Vincent's eyes dropped to the ground as though an anvil had been tied to them.  His captain shifted his gaze to look at each and every player, all of who followed Crabbe's example.  

                All except for Zabini.  He folded his hands over the top of his broomstick and rested his chin on them.  His eyes met Draco's in an unwavering stare.  Draco didn't care.  Blaise always stared at him.  Much as he didn't like it, he was used to it.  

                "I could have _sworn_ your robes were _yellow_, with big, black, disgusting _badgers_ on their fronts."  

                There was a stirring, anger rising in their faces and limbs at being compared to Hufflepuffs.  Gryffindor was certainly the most hated of houses as far as Slytherins were concerned, but to play or act like Hufflepuffs...  That was to be cowardly and timid in the worst sense.  At least Gryffindors were action oriented, even when the stupid lions had no foresight, they didn't just _sit_ there.  Like a badger would.  

                Zabini's eyes drifted away from his livid captain...and settled on a spot across the lake.  He saw the Weasley girl sitting under a tree over there...probably reading.  That was all you could see her doing anymore.  Not that he cared.  It just meant that you had to get out of her way in the halls, or she'd walk right into you.  Then she'd apologize profusely (really_, too _profusely) and help you carry all your things to your class (if you weren't lucky enough to run into her before her potions class, which nobody outside of Slytherin, much less a Gryffindor prefect, could afford to be late to).  He'd seen her do it.  

                Too bad she couldn't knock Malfoy over.  

                A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.  But she had, hadn't she?  The Ravenclaw boy had told a story that had spread like a plague, forming and festering an image in everyone's minds of a big, powerful, Slytherin Head Boy being hurled by a little, weak, Gryffindor Prefect to the ground she walked on.  It could only have been better if she'd been a Plebe and a first year.  As it was, Hogwarts had seemed more than amused to hear the tale.  

                Especially the yank, he thought.  _He'd _been as happy as any of the Gryffindors.  What was his name?  Harold?  Herman?  Holton?  He shrugged to himself.  The name didn't matter.  Zabini had seen him retelling the story to the younger students in the school.  

                He'd also seen him glaring daggers at Malfoy, and he was certain that if Malfoy hadn't been so busy with homework, Head Boy duties, and well…this revenge thing he was surely piecing together (Zabini would be genuinely surprised if Malfoy _wasn't_ planning a little vengeance), he would have noticed the blond boy who kept giving him nasty stares in classes and at meals.

                Meals...  Zabini was hungry.  Malfoy had kept them on the pitch through lunch.  He thought about going inside and getting something from the kitchen, but to his annoyance, his captain was still talking.  Blaise rolled his eyes and tried to look like he was focused on what Malfoy was saying.

                "We are Slytherins.  We _play_ as Slytherins," Draco ranted.   "When we start playing like _badgers_," he spat the word out, "then we start to _be_ badgers."  Draco surveyed his team, and gave them a moment to really mull it over.  "Now," his voice turned over, taking on an insulting and patronizing tone.  "When was the last time Hufflepuff won the House Cup?"  Nobody answered.  Nobody could.  "Exactly."  

                He waved them off toward the castle, and they looked relieved to go.  The sun was resting high above him, beating down and incubating him in his dark, dirty robes.  What he needed was a shower, and some cooler clothes. 

                Draco sighed and slouched his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in them.  He failed miserably.  After one last glance across the lake, he, too, entered the cooler darkness of the castle's entrance hall.  

*****

                Thirty minutes later, clean, refreshed, and considerably less disagreeable, Draco entered his single to see a common school owl perched on the back of his chair.  He raised a curious brow and accepted the note tied carefully to its leg.  As soon as it was free of its charge, it took off through the window that Draco had opened that morning.  

                Noting that the envelope had no name on it, he opened it cautiously, holding it away from himself.  More and more students were buying Weasel gags nowadays, and Draco had been able to not be the recipient of any this far into the school year.  He sincerely hoped (for the sender's sake, of course) that the streak was not about to be ruined.   

                When he finished tearing it open, half a standard piece of parchment floated to the ground.  Draco looked at it suspiciously before bending down to retrieve it.  He turned it over and immediately noticed the half flowy, half scrawled handwriting.  It was construed so that he couldn't make out whether a girl or a five-year-old boy had written it.  Draco was able to make out the message, however.  

                _My land is bare of chattering folk;_

_                  The clouds are low along the ridges,_

_                And sweet's the air with curly smoke_

_                  From all my burning bridges.  _

--Parker; _Sanctuary_

                Draco's features clouded over with uncertainty.  A poem?  Draco was no stranger to letters and poorly written lyrics of admiration from anonymous (and sometimes not so anonymous) girls, but this was different.  This poetry wasn't about love at all.  In fact (he read it again), it was about making enemies.  And furthermore, (he read it once more) it was about not _caring_ that one made enemies.  Who on _earth_ would send him a poem about indifference to burning one's bridges...deliberately?  

                Who was this...he glanced at the bottom of the parchment, _Parker_ person?  The poet?  The sender?  Both?  Because he could guess that _Sanctuary_ was the title, he assumed that Parker was the poet.  Parker...  Parker...  Had he seen the name before?  It would have to have been on a book if he had, since this Parker was an author of sorts.  A book...  

                Well, it wasn't on any of _his_ books, that was for certain.  He thought of people who might read poetry for fun at Hogwarts (assuming the note was even from a student), lying back on his bed to contemplate.  Draco abandoned that thread and went back to books he'd seen recently in the halls.  The library?  A class?

                Nothing with a Parker ran through his thoughts.  

                Draco sighed, putting the poet out of his mind for a moment.  

                Running...something he always had to chide the first years on.  The last time he'd done that had been the week before, when a Hufflepuff had come rushing down the crowded hall and spooked a girl into crashing into another student.  He'd taken points from the little badger before brushing past the fallen students.  Honestly, didn't they ever learn?

                He remembered the girl who'd been run into, red hair, big apologetic eyes, and pale, freckled arms gathering the other student's books into her own arms...  Weasley.  The Weasley girl had been the unwitting victim of the badger's carelessness, and her own books had spilled out of her arms to the floor around her, some laying open in the hallway.  Draco had smirked at her embarrassment and watched her pull her books into a pile under the other student's.  Between her hurried apologetic babble, he remembered seeing one that stood out from the big dark textbooks she'd had with her.  It had been bright, a clean, pristine white, with black letters running up the spine.

                Draco's brow furrowed in concentration.  What had the spine said?  Collected poems of somebody...  Park, he'd seen from under her hand.  Under her hand.  The freckled hand had been covering the name.  Park could only lead to one of two things, and as Draco had the hardest time picturing Pansy as a published poet, it _had _to be Parker!  His eyes widened with surprise, and then narrowed with anger.  That conclusion _also_ only meant one thing: Ginny Weasley had sent him the note.  

                Well, he thought, sitting up.  He paused; he'd sat up too quickly, and waited for the ache in his head to go down before thinking to himself.  What the hell did it mean?  Draco only had to read it one more time before he was sure: she didn't give a damn about what he had on her, and furthermore, Ginny Weasley didn't care if she had to become his enemy.  She was telling him to do his worst, and that she wouldn't hesitate to do the same.  That was what enemies _did_, after all, was burn each other's bridges.

                It was an insult in a horrible disguise.  Unless...  He thought about it a moment.  Unless she didn't _mean_ to hide her message.  Draco growled.  He didn't appreciate her lack of tact.  Her frankness was an insult in itself.  He crumpled the paper in his fist.  _Weasley_.

                A moment later he heard a gentle rush of wind that startled him back.  He looked around the curtained bedpost to see another owl landing gracefully on the arm of his chair, with another blank envelope tied to its leg.  Draco opened it and pulled out the parchment.  

                _Malfoy,_

_                Just in case it was too hard for you to figure, I'll spell it out.  _

_                S-O-D  O-F-F _

                He seethed.    

                Knowing that she must have just been in the owlery to send him the note so quickly, Draco stood up, snatched his robes from his trunk, and stormed out the door...  To catch a little Weasel.  

*****

                Well?  Not a whole lot happened, but I wanted to put something up.  Well, actually, one significant thing happened.  I hope you all caught it.  *wink*  Anyway, if you've the time, I'd really appreciate a review.  What'd you think?  Was it awful?  Too long?  Too short?  Too...Ginny/Draco-less?  Too Holdenless?  Too Underlying Plotless?  Too..thless?  (Ba Dum Bum)  S'okay.  You don't _have _to laugh at the joke.  Just laugh at the joker.  


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